Not Perfect
by thegreekarmygoesmeow
Summary: A look into Antonio and Lovino's relationship. Fluff, pre-established SpaMano, written on a whim.


**A/N: Hahahahahaha Look who isn't dead! I know I've got a shit load of apologizing and writing to do. I'll get around to that later! (much, much later because I'm an admittedly lazy bitch) But I got hit with inspiration to write a cute little Spamano drabble that incorporates a heck of a lot of my own personal headcanons! So enjoy this!**

**Title: Not Perfect**

**Characters: Spain and **

**Warnings: Just Roma being Roma, human names used, fluff, gayness, my OTP being adorable little shits, nitpicking, not Beta'd**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't mine~**

When he wakes up in the morning, side and legs sore, the first thing he sees is love.

No, his hair doesn't shine in the light of the warm Spanish sun. No, his face isn't an angelic picture of serenity. He doesn't breathe silently through perfect, soft pink lips. His body doesn't lay flat, soft and inviting.

His love snores gently, splayed out on his back. His limbs are twisted and tangled in the sheets of their bed, gracelessly exposing his gently rising and falling chest. His hair is a tangled mess, knotted and dull; in need of a wash. Drool dribbles from the corner of his mouth, moving slowly over pale, chapped lips.

Despite this, Antonio feels his heart clench just a little as he gently brushes a few unruly strands from his partner's face, kissing the newly uncovered forehead. He pushes the blanket from his body and stands, inspecting the new bruises and sore spots Lovino dealt to him during the night.

His love was a temper time-bomb. He had a foul mouth that didn't quite fit that cute face. His arms and legs were thin, almost too much so. He didn't have lithe muscles or a suave air about him. He kicked in his sleep, he spoke in his sleep, he had night terrors at least weekly.

Lovino complained about everything from the color of their kitchen walls to the neighbor's eight cats to the "lame" programs on the television. He would go from almost smiling to yelling over something pointless in ten seconds flat.

Antonio smiled to himself, brushing his teeth in that forceful way his dentist was ever-demanding he stopped. He spat into the sink and went to pull on his slacks and shirt for work. Once he had dressed to what he deemed satisfactory, he went back into the bedroom and kissed Lovino's head, murmuring a goodbye before tromping downstairs to make a quick breakfast.

The Spanish man was halfway finished scraping the burn from what he had meant to be toast when a pair of thin arms wrapped themselves around his waist. In surprise he jumped a bit, dropping his breakfast into the sink. He slowly turned to face his "attacker".

"Lovi, you're up early, querido." He mused, patting his head.

"Stupid loud bastard your stamping around woke me up." Lovino frowned.

Antonio took a moment to be thankful that his Italian (yes, his, and no one could tell him otherwise) had brushed his teeth. That was another thing about Lovino, he had terrible morning breath.

"Go back to sleep, amor," Antonio kissed the tip of his nose.

"No. I don't want to."

"Ay, always so difficult."

"Well at least _I _can dress myself."

Oh no, here it comes. Lovino was going to insult his sense of style (or apparent lack thereof) again.

"Lovi I don't have time for thi-"

Unexpectedly he felt his tie loosened. He looked down and saw Lovino was pulling at the silky fabric. Before he could open his mouth to protest, the tie was nestled back into place, laying much more comfortably and hanging straight down his shirt. He smiled fondly.

"B-Bastard people _know_ we live together, no way in hell I'm letting you out of the house with your tie all fucked up."

"Gracias, mi amor. Now go sleep. You had another…bad dream last night."

Lovino stiffened a bit but nodded and stood up on his tiptoes, a silent request. Antonio happily obliged and leaned down to capture his lips. They both smiled slightly as the kiss was kept chaste and short. Lovino lowered himself back down to his flat feet. A pair of goodbyes were murmured and the Italian made his own slow, bumbling way back to the couch for a few more hours of sleep.

Antonio smiled to himself, heading out to the car and starting down the road to work. He cast a quick glance back at the house.

His love growled and snarled, he complained and whined, he was painfully thin, he kicked and yelled in his sleep. He was stubborn and surly. He wasn't one to show his husband affection in public and didn't want to adopt kids. He yelled when Antonio burned the food or focused more on the football game or his friends than on him.

No, his love was not perfect.

But neither was he.

He turned down the street and lost view of his home and his lover.

No, they weren't perfect, but neither would have it any other way.


End file.
